Little Four-legged Experiment
by madwriter223
Summary: Sherlock is bored. But he finds a puppy, so no worries. He'll amuse himself. Fluff, some Humor, kinda Crackish. Also, Puppy!


AN: I honestly don't remember what prompted this one. It's been rattling around my head for a couple of years now, and I finally sat down to write it down. Sorry if my characterisations are off, I'm a bit rusty.

**Little Four-legged Experiment**

Sherlock stood by the street at King's Cross, watching the passing crowds of people. He observed and analysed them absent-mindedly, not really paying that much attention to anything. He had just finished a tricky case a few days ago, and John had said it would do them good to just relax for a few days. Sherlock didn't really see the point of wasting time like that, but he didn't really have anything to do until his latest experiment finished decomposing in the bathroom. So he went for a walk, while John went to sleep off a night-shift at his clinic.

Walking was boring. People watching was slightly less boring, but locating the adulterers and swindlers got dull after a while. Perhaps Sherlock should check what exactly had been laying on his shoes, as well as chewing on his trousers, for the last ten minutes.

Sherlock looked down and as he had suspected – an animal. A pup, judging by its size. It was dirty and thinner than a house pet should be, but not enough to be near starving. It probably hadn't been on the street long, perhaps three or four days. A week at most. It seemed pure-bred, but dog breeds weren't something Sherlock had a knowledgeable grasp on. Perhaps he should though. Knowing the shape and size of dog teeth could be very useful in identifying the kind of dog in animal attacks. He'd start with common dogs, then work his way up to wolves and hyenas. Where would he get a dog skull though? Ideally he'd need at least two from each breed.

Distractedly, he shook the small body off his shoe and marched away, in the general direction of Baker Street. He needed to borrow John's laptop to do some extensive research on where the best place to acquire dog skulls was. He had to stop at the nearest cross-walk (red lights were boring and a waste of time). He tapped his foot impatiently, once, twice, then something slammed into his left calf. He looked down and it was the pup again. It was panting slightly, tongue lolling as it leaned against him. It barked once, the sound high and soft, then licked the material of Sherlock's trousers.

The lights turned green and Sherlock once again shook the pup off his leg and walked away, crossing the street in quick strides. He stopped on the pavement though, turning around to see the street. Sure enough, the pup was making its way through the moving sea of feet, almost barrelling its way towards Sherlock's legs.

It flopped down across his shoes again, then stared up at the detective with shining eyes.

Sherlock freed himself and started walking down the street. The pup waddled after him, seemingly determined not to lose the human. Interesting. Wonder how long the pup would follow him until it gave up. It would at least help alleviate Sherlock's boredom.

He stopped at the corner, waiting for the pup to catch up. The results of the experiment would be inconclusive if the pup got lost, after all.

.*~*.

Sherlock took his time unlocking the front door of his building. He also didn't hurry when getting in – he stood in the open doorway for nearly a full minute before closing it with a clock. He took the stairs two at a time, then stopped at the top and turned around. The pup sat at the bottom of the stairs, tongue lolling out and paws trembling from exertion. It made no move to climb up. Sherlock stared at it for a couple of minutes, then cocked his head to the side. He thought about calling out to the little beast, but that might invalidate his data. The pup was supposed to follow him by itself, encouragement didn't enter into the experiment parameters. So he stood there and waited.

A few minutes passed as they stared at each other, but finally the pup moved closer and lifted its front paw onto the first step, the rest of its body following slowly after. It took the pup a solid ten minutes to climb all the stairs, crying pitifully most of the way from the middle steps. Sherlock backed up as it drew near and the pup stubbornly followed, dragging its belly on the floor on the way. Sherlock stopped and allowed the pup to reach him. It promptly collapsed across one of his shoes, whole body heaving with the strength of its panting. But it did it. It was inside the flat.

"Congratulations." he said, bending down to pat the pup's head (that's what people did with dogs, right?)

The pup rolled onto its side, licking at Sherlock's fingers with a surprisingly dry tongue.

Sherlock should probably give the pup something to drink. He got up and moved to the kitchen, but the pup howled softly, piteously. So Sherlock took off one of his shoes and placed it near the pup, waiting till it had latched onto the sole before moving back into the kitchen. The pup stared after him, but seemed content to stay where it was.

There was only a plate of apples and some milk in the fridge. Canines didn't eat fruit as far as Sherlock knew, but infant creatures liked milk, right? Except what to pour it into? The pup's snout wouldn't fit into a glass, John said cups were for tea _only_,and pouring the milk on the floor was plebeian. Wait, John had a kidney bowl in his Gladstone bag. That should do the trick.

Sherlock brought the milk into the parlour, and set it by the pup, patting its head when the dog squirmed towards him. He got the doctor's bag and emptied it out onto the coffee table, then he grabbed the kidney bowl and placed it on the floor. The pup lifted its head, watching him as Sherlock poured the milk into the dish. It stared at the human for a few moments, then it lumbered up onto its paws and waddled over. A single sniff later it was nearly guzzling the milk down, its stump of a tail wagging merrily.

Sherlock watched it as it drank, then glanced at the Gladstone bag.

Hmmm.

.*~*.

John stared at the coffee table. Or, more precisely, at his medical kit spread across the coffee table. He either had to take fewer naps or start keeping his things under lock and key.

At least nothing was missing this time. Well, almost nothing.

"Sherlock, where is my Gladstone bag?"

The detective pointed a finger towards the telly. The bag sat directly in front of it, the top open.

"Why is it there?"

"I needed it."

John glared at him. "Sherlock, I swear. If there is another severed head in there, we're going to have words, you and I."

Sherlock whistled and a brownish head popped out of the bag, pink tongue lolling merrily.

John blinked in surprise, then walked over to the puppy. "Hello, you." He crooned as he lifted the animal out of the bag. "How did you get here?"

"It followed me home."

John smiled as the tiny bulldog did its very best to lick every inch of his face. "Well, we can't exactly keep him. We don't know whether or not Mrs. Hudson allows pets."

"I named him Gladstone. And we're out of milk."

John sighed, then giggled as the puppy snuggled into his neck, snuffling contentedly at his skin.

.*~*.

"You made it walk from King's Cross?"

"I couldn't influence the data."

"You're a sadist."


End file.
